


Hungry

by FebobeFic_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28733952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FebobeFic_Archivist/pseuds/FebobeFic_Archivist
Summary: After their rescue, Aragorn wants Frodo and Sam to only gradually return to eating solid food but the appetites of hobbits will not be denied.
Kudos: 3





	1. Frodo

**Author's Note:**

> A baby plot bunny from Shirebound's hutch, its tiny nose still wet, fed on lots of carrots and lettuces and love.

"Sam, if I have to face another soft-boiled egg, I think I might go as mad as I did at Mount Doom. Honestly."

"I believe you, Mr. Frodo." For once Sam didn't hurry to hush me: sitting by my bed, he looked as mournful as if his entire garden had just wilted. "And I'd be just as sorry to see it as I was then, when it broke my heart fair in two."

I sighed, nodding, and pulled my knees up to my chest, attempting vainly to ignore my rumbling stomach. First breakfast had been only the usual tray of light porridge thinned with warm milk, accompanied by a cupful of fruit juice - that, at least, was nice, freshly squeezed from the strange fruit called oranges, like their sunny colour. Second breakfast was always a coddled or soft-boiled egg. . .no slices of hot buttered toast, no crispy bacon, no juicy broiled or fried ham. . .no muffins, piping hot from the oven and melting in my mouth. . . . Elevenses promised no better: I wanted scones with sweet butter and perhaps a sandwich, but instead a cup of beef-tea would arrive, albeit promptly on schedule.

And luncheon?

Luncheon was a mockery of a meal.

"Good morning, Frodo, Sam."

I heard Sam utter some polite greeting, but said nothing, burying my face in folded arms upon my knees as Aragorn entered. He approached my bed - even now, I spent much time there - and touched my back gently, as if hoping for a new response.

"Still angry with me, little one? Will you not at least speak to me?"

I pulled away from his touch, not looking up. "Good morning, Ringbearers' Bane."

Aragorn sighed. "Would that I could not deny you! But in good conscience I must beg - insist - that you return only gradually to solid nourishment, for you both were so long deprived of normal food. Lembas is not the same."

"So we noticed."

"Frodo, I only wish to prevent further distress to you both. I do not wish to see you and Sam suffer, and those who eat their accustomed foods and diets again too swiftly after long fasting or short rations tend to become dangerously ill. It has been seen many times. I am sorry."

"And so you allow us nothing but liquids and a few soft things."

"Only temporarily, Frodo. Only for a time. We will keep adding foods."

"Even the orcs fed me."

Silence fell between us. At last Sam cleared his throat.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but - it does seem awful cruel to poor Mr. Frodo. Couldn't at least he have a bit o'something proper? He ought to be eating things to fill him back out, tempt his appetite and all. . . ."

"I am sorry, Sam. But there is no other way." The hand upon my back again. "I could send up some more broth for you both this afternoon - "

"No." The word came out in chorus between Sam and myself, though Sam added a polite thank-you to his. . .I, however, fear that I was past manners, and sufficiently cranky from hunger to refuse anything other than the most irritable of communications with the cause of our distress.

A moment's hesitation. "I suppose, then, that this may not be the best time for me to ask how you are both feeling?"

I snorted, scowling into my knees.

"Well, you see, sir," I heard Sam begin apologetically, "it's like this. I'm feeling well enough, except for - well, a bit hungry. . .and Mr. Frodo. . .it is awful hard for him to feel well at all without much to keep him going. Eating nothing more than soup and milk for a long time after not having much of anything, when a body was going through what he was. . .that's no way for a body to get their strength back. Leastways not a hobbit. I think he'd be feeling a sight better if you'd just let him eat. . .begging your pardon, not meaning to seem rude nor anything. Surely some good roast chicken and vegetables wouldn't hurt anything? Surely he needs to be eating that kind of thing to get better."

At the mention of roast chicken, I suppressed a groan. My stomach complained in chorus, grumbling loudly.

"Forgive me, Sam. Yes, you both need those things. . .but at present, the best thing for you is to have only soup made from them, strained, as we have been giving you, and to add the solid foods back in slowly. If you continue to do well, by the end of the week we may be able to add some applesauce and perhaps a little white bread."

It was Monday.

"I assure you, there is much to build back your strength in the food you are being served. The beef broth with red wine will help build up your blood; it is an old remedy that goes back many ages. And the chicken broth is made with many good vegetables. There is the orange-juice as well, which provides nourishment that you both sorely need. Eggs will help you both to grow strong again. And there is the porridge. . .and milk. . .and honey. I will not allow you to starve."

"I wouldn't know that from my stomach," I muttered darkly.

"There now, Mr. Frodo." Sam's gentle hands touched my back this time, rubbing my shoulders, though I pulled away in frustration at the world. "There now, sir. . . . Just lie down and try to think of something pleasant. You need your rest; you didn't have a good night last night."

At last I looked up: it was necessary to shoot a baleful glare in his direction, which I turned to do. There was no need to say so with Aragorn present: I had hoped to endure nothing more than our usual evening examinations, but it was too late. An anxious expression darkened the grey eyes, and I felt my empty stomach tighten.

"A poor night, Frodo? Why did you not speak of it? Please, lie down. . .let me see how you are doing."

"I didn't sleep well because I was hungry."

"Why did you not call for a cup of warm milk?"

He felt my forehead, and I reached up, pushing his hand away irritably. "Hungry, not suffering from insomnia. Had the warm milk been accompanied by a few sandwiches and scones, then I could have slept."

A sigh, but he did not attempt to argue further, which I took for concession that we had reached an impasse. "You feel too warm - I believe you are still feverish. We must ensure that you drink more."

"How much more can I drink? All I have are liquids!"

Aragorn shook his head. "We must ensure that you drink more water, more broth, more fruit drinks - those fruit squashes you enjoy. Otherwise, you will become very ill; your fever will continue to rise, and you will feel very unwell."

"If you let us have something to eat, I'll try harder. And there's water in foods."

"A fine try, Frodo. But you are likely to be more ill if I allow you too much too soon." He shook his head and bent over to listen to my breathing, laying his ear just over my chest. I decided to follow Sam's instructions and think of something pleasant.

I contemplated pulling Aragorn's hair out.


	2. Samwise

Poor Mr. Frodo.

I don't reckon I ever did see a hobbit look so miserable. He hardly would move from his bed - and when he did try and move, he seemed so weak I fair thought he might faint. It was all right for me; my stomach felt fair empty, but I'd gotten strong faster than Mr. Frodo. I hadn't been through half so much as he had. Carrying him was one thing, but he didn't weigh hardly nothing by then, and it weren't nothing compared to what he went through carrying that awful ring.

And after all that. . .to get through Mordor only to starve in Minas Tirith. . . .

I stood by Mr. Frodo while Strider - I mean King Aragorn - checked him over, listening to his chest and pressing on his stomach (too flat - a hobbit's ought to be round and full, not so hollow it almost caves in like - well, like that Gollum's). He weren't in too pleasant a mood, and I couldn't say as I blamed him, but I didn't say anything, only tried to make him comfortable with extra blankets and pillows when Strider finished.

"I find nothing the matter apart from the fever. However, you must alert me at once if you begin to feel worse, or if new symptoms arise - pain in your chest or your belly or your limbs, cough, sore throat - "

"I have pain in my belly now. From emptiness. A malady which I suspect Sam shares."

I bit my lip as Mr. Frodo glared up at Strider, who simply shook his head. "No, Frodo. I am sorry."

Mr. Frodo only scowled silently at him as he got up.

"I must attend to a few matters briefly, but will return just before luncheon to carry you outside, so that you may enjoy lying in the fresh air. We can place you, Frodo, in the shade so that the sun does not worsen your fever, but you will need to drink. Sam, you will be able to move about in the sunshine, and both of you will have the Prince's Garden to enjoy. That is what I am told this one is called. I think you will like it very much; everything is scaled so that a hobbit might find it suitable, for it was intended for the children of the Kings and Queens of old."

He turned to go, but I followed him out into the hall, keeping my voice low as I caught up to his long legs.

"Sir - isn't there any way you can let him have a bit o'something? Please - you can see how he is. I've hardly ever seen him so upset. Couldn't he have just some mashed potato and creamed chicken with mushrooms, or some milk-toast, or something like that? He loves those, and it'd calm him right down, I'm sure; he's only hungry. . .and after all he's been through, it does seem a right shame that he can't have what he'd like to eat. . .don't it?"

Strider stopped and sighed, looking down at me, his face suddenly looking much older. "Yes, it does, Samwise. A shame indeed. But I was taught this, and I dare not contradict it; all my experience has been that when this rule is broken, naught but ill comes of it. Patients have died from indulgence in desired foods too soon after such privation after you have endured, and I dare not risk your lives. . .even if it means that Frodo hates me. And even if it means that I must ask that you be unhappy for a time, though it pains me to ask further sacrifices of you." He bent and kissed the top of my head. "I will ask the cooks to send up extra jam-custard for dessert with luncheon, and to puree some boiled potatoes down to nearly liquid with milk and butter, so that it will be almost like a soup, but something like mashed potatoes, at least. And ice-cream for afternoon tea. They have made peach ice-cream, since Frodo likes that so much."

I knew that he did, but wanted to point out that he'd rather have a plain peach by now. But Strider had already straightened, turning to go.

"Forgive me, Sam. I will come back after second breakfast and elevenses to take you both to the Prince's Garden."

And he was gone, striding off down the hall on them long legs.

Trying to ignore my belly growling at his disappearing shadow, I sighed and turned to push the door open, going back inside to Mr. Frodo's room.

He lay curled up in his bed, legs pulled up like his stomach hurt - which I reckon it did, bless him. I bent over him, stroking his hair.

"Mr. Frodo, sir - will you take some water? Strider says you ought to drink, after all."

"Don't care." He remained motionless.

There was a knock, and I looked to Mr. Frodo, who only half-nodded, before calling, "Come in!"

One of the kitchen-assistants entered, pushing a cart with two trays. "Second breakfast, sirs."

I expected to see no enthusiasm from Mr. Frodo, but a sudden gleam in his eyes startled me. At once he turned, pushing himself up in bed, and I hurried to help, propping pillows behind him as he spoke.

"Thank you. I - I'm trying to remember - you're - "

The lad bowed. "Berged, sir."

"Berged." Mr. Frodo nodded, but I could see a certain absent look in his gaze. . .a look that reminded me an awful lot of how he got with that ring. Yet the serving-lad seemed not to notice it as my master continued: "There's. . .what is it? Coddled eggs, I think, and juice?"

A quick nod. "Aye, my lord."

Mr. Frodo wrinkled his nose. "The coddled eggs are wonderful, mind you. . .but. . .do you think you could. . ." He gestured regally. ". . .bring up something else. . .some hot buttered toast, if you please? Buttered toast and jam, scrambled eggs or an omelette, spiced apples, a bit of ham - or sausage - or bacon, fried crispy. . . ."

A deep bow. "I'll see what I can do, sir."

"Thank you." Mr. Frodo smiled as the boy slipped out and closed the door.

"Mr. Frodo, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Yet for my words, I could hardly get my tone to carry much of a scolding: Lor' knows poor Mr. Frodo deserved a good meal. Several, in fact. A lifetime of them. And it still wouldn't make up for all he'd been through.

Besides, I was famished.

Mr. Frodo smiled innocently. "Whatever for, Sam? I only asked one of our attendants whether he thought he could bring something else up."

\---

"Sirs?"

At once we looked up, and Mr. Frodo nodded. "Yes?"

"Here you are. . .I think this is everything, my lords, but you have only to ask. The cook says that he sends his compliments to the Ringbearer and his brave companion, and hopes you enjoy your meal."

I fair wanted to gape as he lifted them silver covers off the dishes. Hot buttered toast, little chilled pots o'jam, fluffy scrambled eggs fixed real nice in butter, spiced apples, warm scones in a basket, apple juice, a pot o'tea with milk and sugar and cream, ham and sausage and crispy bacon, fresh grapes, chilled glasses of fruit-balls - that melon stuff. . . .

"The cook was not certain which you would prefer, so he sent a sampler of breakfast-meats. Is there anything I may fetch for you, my lords?"

Mr. Frodo shook his head, and I could tell he was having trouble holding back a smile of relief. "No, thank you. Only. . .please thank the cook for us, and tell him that we shall be wishing more of his delicious scones and muffins for elevenses today."

"Of course, sir." The lad bowed deeply and departed, leaving us in peace with our first decent meal in Lor' knows how long.

"We're safe for a while." Mr. Frodo fair beamed, his poor hand trembling as he reached for his fork - he was still that weak, though Strider encouraged him to try feeding himself, to get accustomed to the loss of his finger and to regain his strength (though truthfully I thought a good diet of minced roast chicken and roast beef and plenty of vegetables would do a sight better toward that than anything else).

"Unless someone else comes."

"They won't know. And if they do, we can stall them." Mr. Frodo shrugged off this concern, taking up a forkful of egg and reaching for a piece of toast, following the bite of egg with a bite of the buttery stuff.

I sighed and dug into my own tray. He had a point.

No sense letting good food sit.

And then the door swung open.

Mr. Frodo nearly choked.

I had to clap him on the back, though I was close to choking myself.

Strider.

At once he pulled up a chair, sitting down by the bed as if the trays were the most natural things in the world.

"I became concerned about you, Frodo. Have you eaten your second breakfast yet?" As he spoke, he calmly set the silver covers back over the dishes, and my heart wept.

Mr. Frodo scowled. "I don't get a second breakfast. If you mean that egg that was sent up and called second breakfast, then no, I have not yet eaten it."

A sad smile. "The kitchen staff would do anything for the Ringbearer, Frodo. But I have just now told them that I will return to explain the importance of this diet, and that your requests must come to me for approval unless they are in line with what I have already prescribed for you. I am not angry with them; I am not angry with you. But you must continue to take it slowly. . .and already we have taken great strides by adding eggs and thicker soups back in. I dare not rush the pace."

Silence. Mr. Frodo turned away, pulling out some of the pillows as best he could, shoving them aside in frustration as he curled up tightly. Strider sighed and rose, both trays gathered in his arms.

"I am sorry. But it is only with your best interests at heart that I ask this."

And he was gone. . .along with the lovely toast and bacon and scones and sausage and apples and ham.


	3. Samwise

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Leave me alone, Sam."

"Now, Mr. Frodo, there's no need to give up." I tried again for what seemed like the thousandth time that morning, rubbing his back to try and soothe him. He was in a pretty pique, had been ever since Aragorn took the trays. . .I reckon it fair near killed him. "Soon there will be elevenses. . .and luncheon. . .and. . .you never know. I'll try talking to him again."

"It's no use, Sam. No good."

I'd not heard so much despair in poor Mr. Frodo's voice since we neared the Cracks of Doom. Falling to rubbing his back in silence, I simply sat beside him, unable to find words of comfort. For a hobbit, there are no words of comfort to match a warm plate of food. . .and I could not give him that.

My heart broke at the thought.

"Sam?"

I looked up with a start. Master Merry peered in, with Master Pippin behind him, both their faces worried.

"Is - is he sleeping?"

"No. . .I'm awake." Mr. Frodo's voice was muffled by the pillows.

"We thought you might be sleeping," Master Pippin said.

Well, at this Master sat right up, giving his cousins a look to freeze beer sure's anything. "I'd like to see you sleep on an empty stomach! On the whole way up from Rivendell, you said you could hardly sleep on such light rations, and those were far more substantial than what Sam and I get now."

"What?" Young Master Pippin looked entirely calm. "It's hardly our fault we get lovely baked fish with apples and mustard, and freshly shelled peas, and new potatoes, and roast duck, and applesauce, and raspberry tarts. . . ."

"Pippin!" Mr. Merry and I both fairly shouted at once.

". . .and sticky toffee pudding, and poppyseed cake, and - what did they call those, Mer? - crab cakes? But they aren't cake at all; they're savouries, and - "

"PIPPIN!" Mr. Frodo looked ready to throttle him.

"I only thought you might rather hear than not. . . ." Master Pippin looked so sorry of a sudden, then, that I couldn't rightly be mad for long, hungry as his list had gone and made me or no. But my stomach protested, growling angrily, just around the same time Mr. Frodo's tummy let out a plea of its own. His cousins eyed us, and Mr. Merry went to sit by Mr. Frodo's bed, leaning over real gentle.

"Frodo - why don't Pippin and I go and get the two of you something to help tide you over? A proper meal, even? I know Aragorn's told the cooks to keep you on light liquids only, but - they'll give Pip or I whatever we want, and we can honestly say it's for us, because it's to make us feel better at the sight of you eating something decent again. As far as they're concerned, we're bottomless pits anyhow; a bit more food will hardly be noticed."

I looked at Master Pippin, who nodded.

And Mr. Frodo came fair near to jumping out of bed with joy. "Merry, you are a marvel beyond words, if you can do that! Mind our jailer doesn't catch you, now!"

"All right, then!" A grin, and the two of them disappeared quick as a wink. It hardly seemed longer before they were back, for Mr. Frodo and I neither one felt much like talking, and I noticed the silences. This one wasn't long.

"What do you say to this?" crowed Pippin proudly, depositing a picnic-hamper on Frodo's bed and opening it swiftly as Merry drew the curtains on the big bed, hiding us from prying eyes at least temporarily. Both Mr. Frodo and I would have fair gasped, but we were too busy hurrying to eat before Strider found us out again. Mr. Frodo, now, was still not strong enough to go too quickly, but he could put it away at a fair pace considering, and I hoped he'd get a bit of this down. Master Pippin and Mr. Merry had managed to make off with a good dozen hard-boiled eggs. . .cinnamon buns, still warm!. . .scones: cream, blueberry drop, and fresh peach. . .plenty of muffins, all kinds. . .several packets of sandwiches: some bacon, some jam, all enough to make a mouth water. . .some o'them nice jelly buns the Gondor folk call "dough-nuts". . .small apple pies and berry pies. . . .

"Thank you, sirs." I nodded for both of us, for Mr. Frodo was sinking his teeth into a muffin just then, closing his eyes in delight. "There now, sir, not too quick - don't want you upsetting your stomach - we'll hold him off if he comes."

A nod - Mr. Frodo seemed too engaged in eating to be irritated. The muffin - mushroom, from the look of things - disappearing at once, he turned to one of the little pies as I began shelling an egg for him, trying to settle him while eating a bacon sandwich at Merry's silent urging.

"Frodo?"

I didn't know it were possible for four people to freeze and scramble all at the same time.

"Frodo? Sam?" Strider was starting to sound worried now, and I felt almost guilty.

Almost.

"A - a moment, sir! We're - ah - that is - " I took the first excuse I could summon and ran with it, which in looking back might not, as my old gaffer would say, have been the sharpest tool in the shed. "Mr. Frodo's needing some privacy, sir!"

"Privacy?" Now Strider sounded confused. The others looked at me. Mr. Frodo glared, but it was too late. There weren't nothing for it.

"Yes, sir! He - he's trying to relieve himself - he's all right, mind, just - needs a good sit time, is all. Undisturbed."

Mr. Frodo dropped his face into his hands. "Sam. . . ."

Silence.

Footsteps.

Silence.

Suddenly the curtains were yanked back, and there stood Strider, half-stifling a laugh, though his eyes were dark with worry. Quicker than you could say pot he swooped down on that hamper and gathered up all the food.

"And what were you four doing?"

"Can't we eat with our cousin and companion, even if the food isn't the same?" Merry asked innocently enough.

"You could. Though to me that would seem cruel." Strider's forehead wrinkled up in furrows. . .and all a sudden he turned to us both. "All of you. Put out your tongues."

We would have tried to protest, but there wasn't any backtalk with him right then, so we put out our tongues. At once he shook his head, and we turned to look.

Frodo's tongue was tinged a light blue from the tastes of blueberry pie he'd managed to get.

"Eating with your cousin, eh?"


	4. Frodo

"Now, sir - "

"Don't "sir" me, Sam."

Settling me more closely in his arms, Aragorn sighed. "Frodo, there is no need to be cranky."

I took advantage of the opportunity to jab him sharply in the ribs with my elbow.

A grim set of his lips was the only answer.

Good.

We crossed into the Princes' Garden, which was indeed, I supposed, beautiful enough, but which might have been bleak and grey rather than bright and green for all I cared at that moment. Leading us to the waiting blankets and pallet, Aragorn put me down. Gingerly enough, though I might add I would gladly have been dropped had it meant I could have something decent to eat.

"Now. . .enjoy your luncheon," a contradiction in terms if ever I heard one! I could hear Bilbo snort, "and Lady Eowyn and Lord Faramir shall return you to Frodo's room when they arrive. They have been told that you will be taking the sun here this afternoon and will need to be taken in after your meal."

"Thank you, sir." Sam's voice seemed lifeless.

I said nothing. Rude, I know, but I felt utterly ill beyond words, achy and miserable with my stomach growling impatiently at me. When he left I did not even look up, preferring to roll up in my blankets.

And thus it was that I at first smelled rather than saw it.

The Gondorian cooks had a peculiar way of seasoning roasted legs of chicken: exotic spices were often used for the royal court and in the marketplace, so that a rich mahogany fragrance of ginger perfumed the air. . . .

As it did now.

And strawberries!

Yes, I could distinctly detect the delicate scent of strawberries as well. . . .

Turning to look, I discovered that Faramir and Eowyn were settling softly some respectful - not respectful enough, mind you - distance away - with. . .

. . .their very own picnic-hamper.

I couldn't help it.

I wept.

Not without going red, I'm sure, for what grown hobbit cries like a fauntling with a skinned knee?

A starving one, that's whom.

Embarrassed, I turned away to hide my tears. . .but the Lady Eowyn outmatched me in speed, something I had not estimated, and looked up.

"Frodo? What is the matter? Are you in pain?"

I shook my head, unable to answer, curling up with my face away. A moment later, I felt deliciously comfortable hands against my brow, and I confess that I lay still for her rather than pulling away.

"Hm! You don't feel overheated or feverish - "

"Begging your pardon, Lady - "

Dear Sam.

"But it's that he's - well, King Aragorn, he - I reckon he's worried about us, doesn't want us moving back onto solid food too soon, or anything that might do us injury, so - it's a right light diet for a hobbit, and poor Mr. Frodo's plumb wore through with hunger."

I felt as if I might die from humiliation.

That is, if my face didn't burn away from scorching humiliation first.

"Is that so?"

Lady Eowyn settled beside me, and I peered out from beneath the blanket, eyeing her with no small amount of trepidation. But she smiled kindly, as did Faramir, who came to join her.

"We mean you no harm, Frodo."

"Which is more than I can say for Aragorn."

Three of us looked at Lady Eowyn in utter astonishment. She shrugged.

"Pish! What's all this nonsense? Unless either of you have something you need to tell me, it has been - oh, weeks now since your return to us, and then you were living on rations not sufficient to keep a bird alive! Come now." And she gathered me up, motioning to Sam and Faramir to follow us to - their basket? "Time to remedy this. We'll have to be careful, now, and I'd rather give you different things later, but for now. . . ."

She began taking out such a splendid spread as even no hobbit could dream: roast chicken, jam sandwiches, leftover roast chicken and turkey and beef sandwiches, stuffed eggs, plain boiled eggs, assorted miniature pies (both savoury and sweet), bread and honey, biscuits (called cookies in the Shire) - again, both sweet and savoury). . . . They had even brought some lemonade out with them. . . .

Dear, dear Sam.

Ah, Eowyn. . .perhaps the rest of the day might not be so dismal after all.


	5. Frodo

I had reached the Uttermost West.

No matter what anyone might say, surely I had. . .for at last I had relief from the torments of starvation imposed upon me by Aragorn these many days. And sweet relief it was, to be sure: Lady Eowyn had given us bread and honey, ginger cookies, and bits of plain roast chicken - the meat only, none of the spicy outside, but still! And better still, she had very much her own ideas to discuss with me. . . .

Four taps sounded at the door in a distinct rat tat-a-tat pattern, sending Sam in haste to open it for the indicated arrival: Faramir, accompanied by Eowyn herself, both of them carrying trays. At once Faramir began arranging Sam's upon a small table within easy sight of the bed, though not so close that dear Sam might feel compelled to try and help rather than eat, for which I offered a grateful smile: we both needed to eat and rest now, and I had the help I needed. . . .

"There now, Frodo. . .let us see if this suits."

I smiled for Lady Eowyn as she set the tray upon my bed and helped me sit up, propping me carefully with firm pillows behind softer ones. "I'm sure it will! Luncheon was wonderful - thank you for rescuing us. But however did you get the trays?"

She arched a mischievous eyebrow. "Faramir is much beloved in Minas Tirith. And we have an ally whom you may soon meet. But fear not, my friend! The king will have much to do before he takes away your afternoon tea. . .if he cares to challenge me with sword, then we shall fight. But until such a fight is decided, your tea shall remain."

I felt uncertain whether to reply with a laugh or a nervous gulp. Given this, I opted for the nervous gulp and a half-smile.

"But now - see what I have for you!"

And she lifted the cover of the tray to reveal a host of delicacies, all in quite small proportions: tea, ginger tea, honey, milk, apple snow, an exquisite miniature berry terrine, an arrangement of tea-sandwiches with plain but wholesome fillings such as jam or very plain roast chicken, a cupful of chicken broth, some plain sweet biscuits, gingerbread biscuits, brandy snaps, warm bread and honey, peppermint custard, a tiny apple cheesecake, and blackberry jelly molded into the shape of the White Tower itself.

"Do you think there is anything there you can eat? I'd have brought cheese toasts or strawberry jam or some fruit, but I think we had better be careful. I brought this because I know you will go slowly, as you promised me." She gave me a smile and a look, and I nodded - still blinking, for the contents of the tray left me in astonished delight.

"Yes, please - if you could pass just one of those lovely sandwiches - banana, is it, you call that? banana and honey? - I'll try that with a bit of ginger tea, and then some of that apple snow. . . ."

It should go without saying that tea took some time. I had finished the apple snow, a few of the sandwiches, some sips of broth, two bites of apple cheesecake, some biscuits, a few tastes of both jellies, and the beginning of the peppermint custard when a sound came that nearly knotted my stomach.

Footsteps.


	6. Samwise

Bless me, if Strider didn't look a sight when he came through that door, fair close to huffing and puffing for all the shape he was in! I'd almost have had a good laugh but that I weren't sure what it meant for nobody - except no good, and that made me nervous, so I went to Mr. Frodo at once. Meaning no offense to Lord Faramir, mind, or Lady Eowyn neither, but sometimes it's my place to be beside Master no matter what.

And this was one of those times.

"Well."

The voice sounded fair like doom itself, and I'm sure poor Mr. Frodo thought the same, for all he quavered. I thought he might be about to be sick from the feeling, and rubbed his back, trying to calm him down; no, please, Mr. Frodo, it'll just go and make Str- I mean King Aragorn - think he was right, not that maybe he weren't right, but. . . .

"I might have expected this. Perhaps I should have assigned others who would not be so easily influenced."

Oh, now, that set Lady Eowyn into a pretty pique if ever I did see one. Up she stood, quick as you could say knife, and she went straight up to him. I reckon Lord Faramir was just smart enough to know by then; he stayed back and didn't get into the whole bit. Wise, if you ask me.

"Easily influenced, am I? How many did not fall wholly under the spell of Wormtongue's simperings at Edoras? How many in the Golden Hall were not poisoned by Saruman's voice through his mouthpiece? How many have - " Here she hesitated, as if it took real effort for her to say this part. "How many have slain that fell King? How many have touched him, my lord, and lived to speak of it? Think on that, then, before you call me easily influenced!"

She quieted for a moment, glancing back toward us.

"I have been a healer, a trained healer, for many years. . .long enough to know that not all are the same. Horses and humans are not alike. And hobbits and humans are not alike. I do not believe that these hobbits were getting enough to eat. You will note that I have been careful indeed; I have hardly set them loose with anything and everything imaginable. But some more good food, digestible, will not harm them. And has not. If naught else, you must realise that you will kill their spirits by denying them what they long for now."

King Aragorn sighed. "The fact, however, remains that you disobeyed - deliberately defied - my order. Do you truly think that I would harm them?" His grey eyes darkened. "And I, too, have been a trained healer for many years, I might note. . .and have treated many kinds of people. Humans of Rohan and Gondor, elves, my own foster-brothers - Elros and Elladan of the Peredhel. . . ."

"My elder brothers, aye."

A voice sweeter than honey interrupted him, and I think startled all of us: Queen Arwen had slipped into the room some time during the past few minutes, without so much as a word, and now swept smiling over to kiss her husband before moving on to Mr. Frodo's bed.

"Tithen min. . .I came to see whether your supper sounded fine to you. The cooks are planning poached fish. . .mashed potatoes. . .glazed carrots. . .mushroom omelette. . .and a slice of pears-with-cream tart. When we see that this settles well, we can continue advancing things with cream-filled strawberries and even some fruit dipped in chocolate, some gingered fruit, chicken in various sauces. . .but for today, we must keep it simple."

Frodo nodded, wide-eyed. . .and settled comfortably as she put her arm about him and looked back up at the king, who stood there sputtering like an old stove, ready to protest.

"Arwen, I specifically stated that - "

She smiled sweetly, all innocence and roses, as my Mam would've put it, and I couldn't help but notice what Lady Eowyn grinned. "Why, dearest, surely you don't mean those ridiculous orders about not feeding our little heroes anything but liquids and such still? The Lady is correct; their diet should already have been advanced. I was so grateful when she brought it to my attention, for I knew surely you would never have given such terrible instructions. . . ."

Well. I've never seen a look like that on a face since Mr. Lotho got drug home by Mistress Lobelia, and by the ear, no less.

His mouth opened and shut. . .and finally he came over to Queen Arwen, sighing.

"You're right, my love. It could not have been my order. . .it must have been someone else that day. Absolutely."

Lady Eowyn tightened up her lips against what looked like a laugh, and Lord Faramir too. Mr. Frodo didn't say a word; he was too busy working on another bite of apple cheesecake for the queen.

Well.

All that and biscuits too.

-the end?-


End file.
